The Night Swim by Megan Goldin

Content Warning: Sexual violence

The Night Swim by Megan Goldin follows the cut and copy structure of most thriller novels today. The formula of voyeuristic female lead + aged crime + rural town almost always surmounts to a sudden break in a case, bringing overdue justice to victimized women. 

Before I give you my two cents on the book, I want to ask why we are so enthralled with stories that peddle violence against women? I myself am guilty of this- Law and Order SVU is my nightcap, a consistent 45 minutes of city livin’ horrors neatly resolved. I’ve read all of Gillian Flynn’s novels (devoured them, truthfully) and while they make me squirm, the only sleep lost over them is from the inability to put the book down. 

Is it that we want to know of all the ways that our bodies can be mutilated, the many different fates women can meet? Does knowing somehow comfort and prepare me, or does it slowly heighten my paranoia? The grip on my pepper spray is futile when I know the characters spun in these novels are drawn from real-life. So, like the many female protagonists that stumble across these injustices, we too want to know what went down. We are the voyeurs.  

The Night Swim has this allure. The novel begins with a letter placed on Rachel Krall’s car, as she stops at a gas station outside of Neapolis, North Carolina. She is in Neapolis to cover a rape trial for her podcast “Guilty or Not Guilty”. The letter is concerning and disjointed, and Rachel, who prefers to keep a low-profile, is concerned for her anonymity. The author of the note claims to be Hannah Stills, the grieving sister of a girl whose murder was covered up in the same town more than two decades earlier. 

“Jenny’s killer will be there. In that town. Maybe in that courtroom,” Hannah writes.

The rape trial is unfortunately similar to most: son from prominent, wealthy family violates woman, defense claims that the sex was consensual, his word against hers. Of course, the trial is the stage for darker undercurrents of the past to be revealed. While some are more guilty than others, residents of Neapolis are forced to reflect on their role in perpetuating the unsafe environment that led to the Scott Blair Trial. 

While Gillian Flynn’s protagonists are often designed to be unreliable and damaged, Rachel is curious and capable. Her investigative skills have resolved many cases that police departments could not, and she even set a wrongly accused man free. Despite her neutral presentation on “Guilty or Not Guilty”, she is received in Neapolis with resentment. The small southern town does not want the attention promised by Krall’s following, hoping to keep their secrets buried. 

The characters in Goldin’s novel are predictable and rudimentary. For all of Rachel’s guile, she allows herself to be manipulated by multiple characters. Hannah’s notes are left in intimate locations, like on the bed of Rachel’s hotel room and the sink just outside of a bathroom stall. These were left inconspicuously, and Rachel always missed Hannah by seconds. If she could so closely follow Rachel, then so could anyone with ill-intentions. Yet, Rachel seems unaffected by this, as she wanders off alone with strange men throughout the novel. 

Pete, Rachel’s producer, is recovering from a motorcycle accident, and while readers expect him to make a climactic appearance to save Rachel, this never actually happens. He is a remote character that communicates from the sidelines, only useful for monitoring Rachel’s inboxes and the occasional background research. 

Most of the men in the novel are written as shifty and over-confident. In the assaults of both girls, there were multiple men as bystanders, who could’ve easily intervened. Instead, the men chose to remain passive, save for a flannel shirt draped over a naked body in a small gesture of kindness.

The rape trial is ultimately a pissing contest between two fathers, born and raised in Neapolis. Regardless of the actual guilt of the defendant, the town remains divided by loyalty. Dan Moore, the father of the victim, is depicted as a desperate man grappling with his emotions, which we later learn is a lethal combination of guilt and reprisal.

(SPOILER ALERT AHEAD)

The most infuriating part of the book, as most of us would agree, was Dan Moore telling Rachel that his daughter’s rape was karmic retribution for his brutal, frequent, and ultimately fatal assaults on Jenny Stills, 25 years prior. 

This admittance from Dan Moore only reinforces the narrative that men are in control of women’s bodies, regardless of their autonomy. Goldin contradicts herself with this line, suggesting that daughters are only a cumulation of their parents' sins. They are not. This draws the victim helpless, left to men’s devices, as if the violation of her body and rights happened not because of the violence bred in the young men of Neapolis, but because of her proximity to the violence. She was a casualty. 

Dan Moore’s daughter was raped because of the deeply-entrenched rape culture that the town, and it’s inhabitants, allowed to continue. After her death, Jenny’s name transformed into an urban legend, a warning for young girls, a “slut” who got what she deserved. The entire town colluded to cover up the rape and murder of Jenny Stills, something that was never fully addressed in the conclusion. 

In the end, the town must reckon with the toxic culture of masculinity that it has fostered for generations. It is unclear whether or not they will choose to change their ways. But, Rachel Krall was able to bring justice to Jenny Stills and her family. 

The Night Swim was underwhelming, and failed to surprise the reader. I continued flipping pages to confirm what I already guessed. The podcast-in-a-book format unnecessarily complicated the novel. The chapters were haphazardly divided between the podcast, Hannah’s letters, and the present plot. Rachel’s character is reminiscent of Phoebe Judge, the hushed voice behind the Criminal podcast, and it seemed as if Goldin was trying to modernize the harrowed female journalist. This style did not differentiate it from other thrillers by much. As for the writing, Goldin’s vernacular is pedestrian, the imagery minimal. For a thriller, it lacked a layer of creepiness, and instead relied on the gruesome details of sexual assault. 

What the novel did do well was demonstrate the viciousness of the courtroom and the trauma that rape victims have to endure if they choose to come forward and take legal action. The lawyer’s antics, the advantages of wealth and publicity, the impossibleness of an objective jury: Goldin’s depictions of the courtroom were realistic. I would encourage readers to learn more about the “peremptory challenge” allotted for defense and prosecution teams, as this is used today to create unequal juries and unfair trials. When selecting jurors, lawyers are looking to leverage education, gender, race, and more, and need little explanation as to why they dismiss a potential juror (John Oliver discusses this more in-depth here). What you think may be a jury of your peers, is anything but.     

“I’m Rachel Krall and this is ‘Guilty or Not Guilty’, the podcast that puts you in the jury box.”